


That One Thing

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Angst, Headcanon, M/M, RPF, Ziam easter eggs, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn has a hard time sleeping, so Liam decides to help.</p>
<p>Full of cuddling, tour bunks, Larry Stylinson, and Niall, the best of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't help it if I woke up at 5 in the morning today with this fic in mind. Apologies to all the people involved.
> 
> Disclaimer: Although I've based these events on a certain timeline, this is a work of fiction (obviously) that doesn't intend to come off as the truth (obviously) or a version of any truth (again, obviously). What I'm trying to say is that I woke up at 5 a.m. today, nudged by this bubble of a fic, because I need help. And then, I wrote it.

"I'm not sure we can fit in there, to be honest," Zayn says. He winces at his voice. It's so _loud_ and so small, too.

Liam fixes him with a look. "C'mere," he says quietly. The low rumble in his sleep-coated voice sends a jolt through Zayn's body. "Please."

Zayn inhales and attempts an entrance. The bunk really was too small. But Liam is Liam, and he's not Liam, really, if he's not going to at least _try_.So, as soon as he could reach him, Liam pulls him into his bunk, and Zayn kind of stumbles into it stiffly. Hmm. It really was pretty dark and pretty small in there, but Zayn thinks, _I won't mind._ He catches himself. Oh God.

They fit, but it feels like a coffin.

"Well, yeah, it's kind of cozy, innit?" he hears Liam say.

"Didn't realize I said that out loud," Zayn coughs out. He lets out a slow exhale. He can do this. He's not sure if he's not good with small spaces, or if he's just not good with small spaces with boys like Liam. This was going to be a long night.

Liam laughs a little. "You did, but that's okay." He settles his head in the space between Zayn's neck and shoulder, and he feels his arms wrap around from behind him. Zayn's breath hitches in his chest, but he tries to steady himself. _They were spooning._  They've slept next to each other a lot before, but never quite so closely, and not in such a small space. _Play it cool, Malik_. "Nice place," he says, instead.

Liam clears his throat. "We're trying to get you to sleep, yeah?" Zayn nods, quite unsure that this is the way to go. His sleep-deprived brain was buzzing, and his eyes were wide open, but he's not about to ruin this moment, whatever it is. A few weeks into their tour left him with a bit of anxiety and little to no sleep. He knew it was taking its toll on him, but he couldn't figure out why he couldn't pass out peacefully when he's so exhausted. This morning, he finally told Liam he wasn't sleeping very well, and he volunteered to help. He knew Zayn to be a heavy and deep sleeper, so this issue concerned him deeply, apparently. Zayn meant to keep it light, like,  _Haha, you know I haven't been sleeping for the past however days_ , but Liam isn't Daddy Direction for nothing.

"You probably just miss home," Liam had said. "I'll help." Zayn didn't realize _this_ was what Liam meant by helping. A soft snore fills the silence. Niall.

"So sleep," Liam whispers. "Leave it to me," he adds thoughtfully, arms still wrapped around Zayn's waist. Then, his starts running his right hand up and down Zayn's thigh, giving it a little squeeze. Liam hums a half-asleep lullaby. Zayn's heart was about to leap out of his chest. He was about to actually die. He opens his eyes wide and looks around wildly in the dark, at nothing at all. He's surrounded by the relentless tick-tock of the clock and soft snores from all around the bus. And Liam's lullaby. Zayn feels like he's going to explode, but he also wants to wrap himself in it, just take the lullaby and make a blanket out of it. This was going to be a long night, indeed.

"Payno," Zayn whispers absentmindedly. "Mmm," he hears in a sleepy reply, and Zayn smiles in spite of himself.  "Sleep," Liam orders, as if reading his mind. "Aww," Zayn says softly. "Look at you, trying to help."

"Shh," Liam says in his best stern voice. " _Sleep._ I'm not going to say it again." He wraps his arms around Zayn tighter and brushes his face against his cheek, nestling in some more. That shuts Zayn up. _Rude,_ he thinks. How is he supposed to sleep now? He begins counting in his head, because damn it, he _was_ going to get some sleep, even if it kills him. Which it actually might.

Somehow, he falls asleep right along Liam's steady breathing. The last thing he remembers is thinking about whether or not Liam would like to wake up next to him.

 

•

 

Zayn actually wakes up earlier than Liam today. He really, _really_ didn't want to get out of bed. Liam's arms were still around him, and his breath warm on his neck, lulling him back to sleep. He could probably have stayed in for a few more minutes. He started settling back into Liam before the thought of Louis' merciless teasing makes him shoot out of Liam's bunk. The rest of the bus looks unoccupied, quiet, and best of all, asleep. Zayn breathes a sigh of relief and punches the air in success. He gleefully pads to the small kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea. He's a bundle of nerves for a lot of reasons, and tea always help him clear his head.

"Sleep well, eh?" he hears from the front of the bus, and he freezes. Louis head pops out from behind one of the seats, armed with a cuppa and the biggest shit-eating grin. "Don't," Zayn tries to put on his sternest voice. Fucking Louis. When he says nothing else, Zayn continues. "You know, I just might actually murder you today."

"Who's going to be your best man, then, mate?" Louis takes a big gulp of tea, and grins. Again. Zayn actually does want to punch him.

"You know there are two other blokes in there, right?" Zayn starts, filling the kettle with water. "Two blokes that _don't_ give me shit at fuck o'clock in the morning, before I've had my tea."

"Ah," Louis says, thoughtfully. He pauses a bit too long and Zayn braces himself for what comes next. "So you're saying there _is_ a wedding?" Zayn chucks a dish towel at Louis, who seems to have no clue or care that half his drink has spilled all over him. Zayn rolls his eyes, rummaging through the box of tea they keep by the small counter.

"Who's having a wedding, then?" A sleepy Harry emerges, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He's barefoot and his hair is a mess of curls, even moreso than usual. Sometimes he wonders what it was like to be as adorable as Harry. Zayn steadies himself on the counter and flicks through the teabags, even though nothing is quite registering.

"Hazza, our friend here has taken the next step with a gentleman caller," Louis says, throwing his head back and swooning. Harry's face arranges itself in an expression of understanding. "Oh," was all he could say. He grabs his mug and quitely waits for Zayn to finish looking through the tea.

"D'you need help with the tea, Zayn?" Louis' smile is so big, Zayn could see it even with his back to him. "You've been at that for quite a while now."

"He was just helping me sleep, alright?" yanking out a random teabag and shoving the box to Harry. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"You know I'm a little occupied," Louis says, plainly, darting a quick look at Harry who was looking through the tea box, seemingly tuned out to the world. Zayn wonders if he still knew what that felt like, not being tuned into the world of Liam Payne so much. God, he misses that feeling. Anyway, he should have known he'd rue the day he told Louis about his undying love for Liam. _He's so fucking fit_ , Zayn groans at his past self gushing. _I want him for my birthday._ Louis had laughed, then. As if to prove that he meant it, Zayn ran up to kiss Liam on the cheek the night they shot the music video for "One Thing." It was cold, and the day had been long. Louis had brought a flask of whiskey and Zayn took a few sips to keep warm. It figures that he does this as the BTS crew was filming Liam, too. His whole body felt aflame, especially as Liam said "I love it" before fake-fainting out of frame as Zayn ran away. Now, sober and hopelessly hung up, Zayn can't help but kick himself mentally. One could only hope that doesn't end up in the final cut.

Zayn shakes his head. It's not even a big deal. But he decides, he should never be allowed near whiskey ever again. He pours himself some hot water and dumps the teabag in. Harry makes his tea, too.

Louis was about to say something, but Harry cuts him off. "Shut up, Tommo." He looks at Louis sternly, finger pointed and face set in an expression Zayn can't quite read. Louis stops talking, but his mouth settles into a small smile. Harry turns to Zayn, gently slaps his face a few times, and plants a kiss on his forehead. He pulls back his head, hands still on either side of Zayn's face, and he wordlessly looks at him with sleepy fondness. Zayn doesn't know what to say, and Harry turns back to his tea. Harry takes a big sip, sets his cup down, and hums Liam's lullaby from last night.

Zayn rolls his eyes and fake-faints to the floor. "You're killing me," he intones in a whisper so serious, it silences the whole room. The three burst out laughing.

"That's a good tune, Harry," Louis chokes out. "Reckon it'll make it to the next album?"

Harry squats beside Zayn and ruffles his hair."Well, yeah, we _have_ to put it in there, now," he says. "Can't say 'no' to a fainting Zayn." Zayn pulls him by his outstretched hand and tackles him to the ground, wrapping Harry in a brutal round of tickling.

"Oi!" Louis is suddenly on his feet, propping his mug on a nearby counter. "Get your own Hazza!" He tries to wrestle Harry away from Zayn.

"Seriously?" A sleepy Niall appears in the doorway. "It's not even light out yet." The three of them burst out laughing as Niall rolls his eyes and goes back into the bunks, muttering "Animals." Louis sneaks a peck on Harry's cheek. Harry smiles a toothless smile at Louis. He leaves them in tangles on the floor.

"You're awful," Zayn says in mock disgust, "Both of you." He takes a sip of his tea. "Yuck," he says, spitting the tea back into his cup. _Vanilla_ , it says on the packet. "Why do we even have this?"

"What? I like that," Liam says, suddenly entering the room, gesturing to the kettle, asking if he could have some of the hot water. Zayn could only wordlessly nod. Harry and Louis, both sitting on the floor, bury their faces in their respective near-empty cups of tea, to keep themselves from laughing. They're pretending to drink as Zayn glares at them from behind Liam. Liam pours himself some water, his phone cradled against his cheek. "Oh, sorry, babe," he says into it, tearing a packet of vanilla tea open and dumping it into his cup. Zayn's face heats up, and his shoulders slump into a slight crumple. He can tell that Harry and Louis have stopped giggling, too. "Just defending vanilla tea's honor against these hooligans," Liam turns back at them and the bastard actually winks before going back towards his bunk, blissfully unaware of what he left behind. "It _is_ ,too, tea!" he barks into his phone.

"Murder me, Harry," Zayn says, once Liam was out of earshot. He doesn't take his eyes off of the tiny hallway, mouth slightly open, heart on his sleeve.

"I know, baby," Louis says, sympathetically. "I know."

"That poor oblivious soul," Harry says, shaking his head and downs the rest of his drink. Louis puts another round of water to heat up and turns to Zayn with a small, sad smile. "Maybe a little tea will help, yeah?" Zayn nods. Louis says, "I'll at least make sure you don't give yourself vanilla this time."


	2. Chapter 2

"Step away from the Twitter," Louis says, grabbing for Zayn's phone. "It can't be good for you, mate."

Zayn is flopped down on the small sofa by the front, all mopey-faced and pathetic. He growls at Louis and snatches his phone back. "What rhymes with 'I want to die'?" he asks no one in particular. It was just about 1 in the morning, and the day turned out to be an exhausting one. After breakfast, they laid down some tracks, put on a show—a good one at that—and had to go in and record a few vocals, too. It's tiring, but the more they get done early on, the easier it will be on them later. Zayn can't imagine how much more he can actually, physically take, but he figures it's better than being at school.

Liam was pacing outside the bus, standing in the cold, talking to his girlfriend. His _girlfriend_. The worst bit is that Zayn actually likes her. He admits that it kind of came out of nowhere and he's a little hurt that Liam didn't tell them himself, but she's actually cool. Which is the absolute worst. No, he changed his mind. This inescapable heaviness he feels about this whole thing is the worst bit. He sighs and he hates that he's been reduced to this sighing, moping lump, but he doesn't have the energy to care.

"First of all, he's not quite bright enough to figure out that's about him, you know," Louis says, looking over Zayn's shoulder to read what he's typed. "Second, that, in no way, rhymes with 'I want to die.'"

"Leave me alone."

Louis opens his mouth to say something, thinks the better of it, and crawls on top of Zayn, wedging himself into the space between him and the sofa. "Never," Louis says. It's not comfortable at all, and Zayn struggles with breathing a little. He does seem to relax a little, perhaps deeper into his sadness, but at least, this way, Louis gets to hug him.

Niall walks into the bus, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the cold. He stops and looks at Zayn and Louis. "This is getting kind of really sad," he says. Zayn gets ready to melt into a puddle of self-pity when Niall crosses over to him to give them both a hug. He instantly feels better. "Sorry, Zayn," he says.

"You don't even know what this is about, Niall," Zayn mumbles.

Niall laughs a little, not meanly. "Believe me, love, I do."

"How—" but Niall cuts him off. "You know it's kind of obvious to everyone but Payno, right?" Zayn cringes. He didn't realize he was _that_  transparent. He ends up replaying every look and excuse he made to touch Liam and his blood runs cold. He groans as he thinks of how much of everything he's done is caught on tape. Niall waves his hand in front of Zayn's face as he thinks about how much he wants to live in a cave right now. "Hey, don't worry about it, alright? He'll come around. He loves you, too."

Zayn ignores Niall, unsure how to feel about the l-word. "They're talking about getting a _dog_ , Niall."

"I know, you big baby," Niall says. He kisses each side of Zayn's temple, and gets up. "But that doesn't even mean anything, when it all comes down to it. It really doesn't." Zayn looks at Niall, who looks like he knows something more about this. Before he can ask, though, Niall stands up and sets a final hand on Zayn's shoulder. "You shouldn't even be eavesdropping, anyway. Good night, Zayn. Good night, Lou."

"Good night, Nialler."

"I'm serious, Zayn," Niall yawns, walking towards sleep. "It doesn't mean anything." Zayn pats Louis softly and they sit up, next to each other. Louis drapes a leg over Zayn's lap, mindlessly playing with his phone in his hands, turning it over and over. Zayn keeps quiet and after a few moments, he turns to Louis. "What do I do, Lou?"

Louis looks thoughtful. "Well, we could try to fuck it out of you," he starts, planting a kiss on Zayn's cheek. Zayn can't help but smile. "I don't think Harry would mind," Louis adds with a tinge of ill-concealed jealousy.

Zayn shakes his head, reaching behind it to pat Louis' head. "Thanks, Tommo," he smiles and scrunches up his face. "As much as I appreciate being pity-propositioned by a fine specimen such as yourself, I don't think that's going to work."

"That bad, huh?"

"Unfortunately."

"Huh."

Silence. It's kind of a little crazy, really. They're on the road, seeing the world, getting to meet so many people, and all Zayn can think about is how the guy he likes doesn't like him back. He thought going on tour would be different, but it's really kind of like high school all over again, and it is driving him nuts. "What are you thinking?"

Louis turns to face him. "Well, it's just that," Louis starts, haltingly, "Did you ever tell him how you felt?" Zayn keeps his eyes on the ground and feels his face flush red. He imagines Liam's face when he breaks it to him:  _I really, really like you and I think you are beautiful_. It's different when they play-act on stage and he can pretend to be the loved-up teenager he wished he was. He doesn't even remember when he started doing it, but he sings Liam line after beautiful line, a cathartic release every night. Then Liam starts to reciprocate onstage, only to laugh it off as a joke. And, you know, even if he doesn't expect anything back, it still stings a little. Zayn lets out a strangled noise, like a dying animal. He _feels_ like a dying animal. Then, he feels stupid because this shouldn't even bother him that much. There are so many worse things in the world. Louis puts an arm around Zayn, patting his shoulder.

"I don't think I could do it, Tommo," he says.

"Why not?"

"Way too much to risk, yeah?" If he admits this to Liam, he can't really take it back. Every whiskey-fueled kiss and every too-long stare would mean something. And even though he loves Liam, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he just can't bring himself to do it. It's too much. It'll cost him so much, too. Life on the road is hard, but it's good and it's fun. It's infinitely better than anything he could have come up with himself.

"Well, yeah," Louis says. Zayn could feel him thinking, and he knows that Louis is thinking about Harry. They'd flirted so frequently and openly from the beginning, that it surprised no one when they started hooking up. It was an inevitability that unraveled quickly. Even though it's technically not anything "official," whatever that means, this is the happiest Zayn had seen Louis. He just beams at everyone—several million times brighter than the sun, Harry had said once—and Zayn knows that every little thing Louis does is for Harry's benefit. To make him laugh or something. Harry's a little harder to read, but Zayn knows what to look for. For one thing, he knew that Harry would definitely mind if Louis fucked this Liam situation out of Zayn. Harry would mind very much. "It _would_ be risky," Louis says. "But is anything worse than _this_?"

A beat passes, and both Zayn and Louis cackle at the absurdity of their situation. Zayn feels lighter and he's thankful he's got friends, especially this lot. Despite being knee-deep in a love he can't quite explain or wish away, he feels lucky he has all of them to do this with. "Alright, alright get off me, then," Zayn says, gently shoving Louis leg away. "I'm going to bed."

"What, you don't need any more help sleeping, then?" Louis teases.

Zayn stalks off for the bathroom and holds up his middle finger obscenely towards a laughing Louis who nestles into the sofa. He was probably waiting for Harry. _Ugh, couples_. "Love you, Zayn," Louis shouts after him.

"Love you, Lou," he says as he thinks about Louis waiting for Harry. Whatever they had between them seemed easy, but precious and special. And theirs. _That's what I want._

 

•

 

After a long, hot shower, Zayn settles into his bunk, eyes heavy-lidded and bones dead-tired. He curled up on his side, making himself very small. He was near sleep, when a floppy-haired Liam, fresh from the shower, follows in after him.  _Fuck me gently with a chainsaw._  This is the worst. This was his favorite Liam, soapy-smelling in a ratty shirt and hole-y boxers, skin cool from the shower, hair just a little wet, still.

He had a million questions running through his mind but "Um," was all Zayn could say. 

"This coffin full?" Liam says, crinkles in his eyes, chuckling at his own lame joke. Zayn hates him. He could already feel the sleepiness leave his body, and he wants to gather it all back around him in a protective nest of unconsciousness. If only he had thought to pretend to already be asleep, he wouldn't be in this mess. "Hello, Zaynie?"

"Uh, no," Zayn manages to stutter out. "Room in here for, er, one more." He cringes, thankful for the shadows of the curtains. _Zaynie?_ How was he even still functioning?

"Yay," Liam says really quietly, so cutely. Zayn really, really hates him. "I thought we could try this again," he says, Zayn half-listening, exhaustion slamming into his body. He was just so tired. He can make out Liam's lips in the dark, and he forces himself to drift back into the conversation to keep himself from crushing his lips into Liam's and running his hands through his hair. "I don't know about you, but I had the best sleep of my life last night." Bastard. "It could be like, um," Liam gropes around for the word, "like a sleepover or something. You're alright with that, yeah?"

Zayn just nods, energy thoroughly sucked out of him. He was exhausted and he didn't feel like fighting against it. Not right now, anyway. It was true; he slept so well the night before, he dreaded going back to his bunk alone tonight. But now Liam's here. Liam's _here_ , and he found his way to Zayn's bunk by himself. At that moment, Zayn just wanted to burrow himself in Liam's shoulder and sleep.

"C'mere, then," Liam whispers, with a look so steady and focused on him, and it took Zayn all of him not to give himself away right there. Liam wraps himself around him and he allows himself to be taken into Liam's arms. Liam, who murmurs, "Mmm, you smell good," in a sleepy voice.

If Zayn were any more awake, his body would have stiffened at this, but Liam is here now, and even before they fell asleep in each other's arms, he's already far gone.

 

•

 

Zayn jolts awake. Liam is taking off his shirt. This is _not_ a dream. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Zayn says. "What are you doing?" He curses the slight edge of panic in his voice.

"Um, I'm taking off my shirt..." Liam drags it out, like a question. Zayn could just punch his face. "I know," he says evenly. "Why?"

"I don't know if you noticed, but it's getting really fucking hot in here." Zayn feels sticky and he wants to take off his shirt, too, but he stays his hands and kicks off the blanket still tangled around his legs. He doesn't much feel like being too exposed right now. He vaguely wonders what he might've done in his past life to deserve this torturous turn of events, but keeps that thought to himself.

"What time is it?" he says instead.

"S'just about to get light out," Liam says, voice thick and deep. Zayn fights a strong urge to kiss him. He must have done really horrible things, he thinks. A sliver of light peeks from behind the curtains. Someone was already awake and quietly moving around the kitchen. "We have an hour or something before we need to wake up, but I want to go back to sleep. Is that okay?" When Zayn takes too long to answer, Liam asks "Do you need to leave the bunk? I think Niall and Harry are awake…"

"No," Zayn swallows. He knows he should probably take himself out of the situation, but it doesn't have to be a big deal. He doesn't have to make it weird. He won't. "I'm okay right here."

Liam smiles, "Good." He reaches for him, and Zayn scoots closer to rest his head on Liam's shoulder. Shirtless Liam. Zayn exhales slowly and tries to sleep. He'll fight through this in the morning. He always does.

And anyway, it's kind of nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw" is from Heathers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn turns ~~18~~ 19 and Louis remembers his birthday wish from a few months ago. Or, in this case, from Chapter 1.

In all the times he’s thought of his 19th birthday, Zayn never imagined it would be celebrated onstage with four brothers that used to be strangers to him. On one of their London shows, held on the night before his birthday, Harry leads the audience in a round of “Happy Birthday,” and Zayn can’t help but stand awkwardly in the spotlight. He’s never done well as the center of attention, so it’s a little strange that this is his life now.

Sometimes, he feels himself enact a plan of self-sabotage when he feels the attention turn towards him, like the time he actually almost refused to show up for his _X-Factor_ audition and had his mother force him out of bed. He cringes at the memory, thankful for an insistent mother who believed in him enough, even when he didn’t quite believe in himself at all. Most days, he runs on autopilot, able to block out all of his over thinking due to his sheer exhaustion, but there are times that he _does_ have the time and the capacity to take it all in. Not that it makes much sense—he's not quite sure he'll be able to make sense of any of it, at all—but he tries not to forget where he came from and where he is now.

After the song, Liam addresses the audience, reminding them to have fun and celebrate the night with them. For some reason, Zayn remembers the obliviously square teachers in school that facilitate programs and try to insist that what’s about to befall them is _fun_ , but he’s so deliriously happy that Liam’s the way he is—so obliviously square—he can’t help but love the idiot.

They do the show, and he thinks about how it’s supposed to be hard to do the same damn thing several times in a row, but how it’s so easy and so fun with Harry, Louis, Niall, and Liam. At some point, Zayn thinks about how he misses Liam’s long floppy hair a little, even if this haircut actually looks a million times better on him right now. When he wasn't too self-conscious, and they're both too bored to do anything else but sit and play video games, Zayn sometimes catches himself running his hands through Liam's hair. Liam never seemed to mind, which is why he kept doing it for months after.

After the show wrapped that night, they all piled, in a rush, into a hotel room that management booked for Zayn’s birthday. Actually, they made Zayn wait a little in the bus by himself before he was allowed to go up and celebrate with everyone. “Preparations,” Louis simply said before leaving him there and making him swear with a pinky promise that he was going to wait in the parking lot. Nobody really had the time to set everything up, in between all the traveling, the practicing, the recording, and the performing. Louis, especially, wanted things to be “just right.” He needed Zayn to feel like he was celebrating with family, even though Zayn had told him repeatedly that he already felt like he was home.

Zayn was to wait for a text message to go up to the room once everything’s finished. The total wait was, in reality, just about 15 minutes, but to Zayn, it felt like forever. Post-show adrenaline was no joke and he was actually in the rare mood to party. It’s not everyday one turns nineteen years old, after all. (Or any other age, really.) Zayn jumps around the bus, careful not to destroy anything despite the overwhelming urge to trash everything. He’s feeling like an actual live wire. When he runs out of things to do, he runs back and forth the length of the bus a few times. He wants to smoke a cigarette, but he stills his hand because he wanted to see how long he could go without. He's too self-conscious to scream inside a bus by himself, so he doesn't. He knows that he could probably just go up to the party, but he also knows he should wait, for Louis’ sake. He _did_ pinky promise.

At last, he receives a text and he almost trips over himself trying to blaze through the parking lot, the elevators, all along the damn hallway to get to Room 3218.

He knocks on the door, which was opened by Louis to a deafening, half-drunk collective “Happy birthday!” from the crew and his boys—the closest thing to family he’s had in months. The room was fitted with a pitiful clump of streamers strewn across the walls, and a banner that’s too small for the wall it’s stuck on, but to Zayn, it’s absolutely perfect. He thinks briefly of how he wants to cry, but he feels _so warm_ and so loved that he doesn’t think he has quite enough space in his body for tears.

He didn’t realize he was looking for a face in the crowd until he spots it—Liam’s standing in the far corner of the room with a bow on his head like a fucking birthday present. He remembers his whiskey-fueled confession on the shoot for “One Thing.” _Fucking Louis._ Liam’s lips spread into a smile, which splits open into a blinding grin, and reaches Zayn and makes him smile all widely, too. Liam shrugs a shoulder and mouths _Happy birthday_ across the room, as Louis claps his hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “I believe you told me ‘I want him for my birthday’ not too long ago,” he sniggers. “Et voila!”

“You’re a shit,” Zayn replies, laughing despite himself. “I love you, but you’re a shit.”

“Hey, don’t thank me,” Louis says, ignoring Zayn’s dig. “I couldn’t even get him to wear that bow, no matter how hard I tried. Why do you think it took so long for us to call you up? Not the streamers, obviously.” Louis sweeps an arm across the room, in the grandest self-deprecating gesture Zayn ever saw. “Anyway,” he continues, “Niall’s your man. I don't know what he said, but it worked, so you're welcome.”

Louis scans the room, spots Niall and waves. Niall sees them and bows theatrically. He gives Zayn a little wink and a broad grin before turning around to talk to some pretty blond he brought along to the party. Zayn feels a little bad that he rarely remembers their names but Niall brings a different girl around so often, he just eventually stopped even trying. He just made sure he seemed friendly enough, which is all he _can_ do, anyway. He puts his arm around Louis and says, “Thanks, mate. Everythin’s perfect.” Louis just gives him a big grin and ducks out to presumably look for Harry.

Zayn finds his way to one of the smaller couches in the room. He was quietly sipping a drink he had made himself—a sickly sweet, too-strong cocktail that he didn't like but didn't want to waste—when Liam sits down beside him. “Hey,” Liam says. They were overlooking the view of the city, and it was so beautiful that he found it hard to believe that any of it was real.

“Hey.” Zayn turns to look at him, but he has to look away almost immediately. God, he was so beautiful. Zayn’s head feels so light, so he focuses on a pair of twinkling lights in the distance. “Some view, huh?” Liam says quietly. He has a bottle of beer in his hand, even though he’s not technically allowed to drink yet. He knows how to hold his liquor well, anyway. Louis’ the oldest, but he’s the one they all have to look after. Sober Louis tends to go overboard enough as it is.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty decent,” Zayn jokes. He sobers a little and in a move inspired by his sticky-sweet liquid courage, follows it up with a quiet declaration. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”  
  
“Me, too,” Liam says, eyes all crinkled up. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He brings his bottle closer to Zayn’s glass, and Zayn meets him halfway to clink it, not missing a beat. He likes how in sync they are sometimes. It makes him feel like what he feels deep in his gut, whatever it is, is valid and is meaningful, at least to some degree. It doesn't even matter if he hasn’t quite figured out what they are yet, or what he wants them to be, or what it is he's feeling, really. They sit quietly next to each other, and even though there are at least a million things that are going through his head, so many things he wants to tell Liam, he doesn’t say anything. Zayn was never any good with words or with talking, and Liam gets that. He understands and it’s never weird. Liam knows to wait until Zayn's ready to talk, and he appreciates that.  
  
Someone in the room—Harry, probably—starts to count down the seconds until he turned 19. Zayn buries himself deeper in his seat as the time grows closer to midnight. It’s a reflex, a defense mechanism against being the center of attention, even though it _was_ his birthday, so he naturally would be. He becomes acutely aware that he was about to become a man—whatever that means.  
  
“3… 2… 1! Happy birthday, Zayn!” The room erupts in cheers, but it’s Liam’s whisper of a “happy birthday” that rings loud and clear in Zayn’s ears. He smiles at Liam and stands up from his comfortable little nest to thank everyone.  
  
He sees Harry bring out the cake from the small kitchen, Louis in tow behind him, hands on Harry's waist. The cake is a white-frosted round thing topped with a burning “19” candle. Zayn reaches for the plate with his hands because he knows he risks getting pie face if he doesn’t. Everyone sings him a happy birthday, led quite sloppily by a boy band. When the song’s done, he leans in to blow the candle, but it was the wrong move because for all his preparations, _this_ is the moment that Harry decides to tip over the cake and smoosh it all over his face. Zayn’s heart feels so full that he doesn’t even mind. He just breaks out into a bigger smile, wiping away the frosting as Niall hands him a glass of something and a shot of something else _on fire_ that he drops into the bigger glass and makes Zayn drink. "You're a man now, you wanker!" he hears Harry say. The shot burns in his chest, but he’s so, so happy that he’s here that he barely even notices.  
  
The rest of the night is a blur of flashes, clinking glasses, and more burning shots down his throat. They don’t usually drink a lot, but it’s a reason to celebrate. They’re about to take a short break—minuscule, really—before going back to business. He’s flying out early in the morning to be with his family on his birthday. Zayn didn’t realize that all of this would be so fast-paced, but he knows that for all intents and purposes, no matter how much of a family they feel like, they’re a business created to make money. They’re a business that has a shelf-life, and they’re being made to work this hard to milk everything while they can.

The flash of this realization, not matter how quick it had been, makes him feel a little bit sad. But, his eyes catch his four beautiful boys from across the room, and he knows that he’s one of the lucky ones. He breaks into a run and joins them, bumping into tables and people as he makes his way to the boys he loved the most in this moment.

 

•

 

At about half past 2 in the morning, Zayn and Liam stumble into Liam’s room, both a little drunk and a little more stupid than they usually are. It _would_ have been an amazing feat for them, finding the room in their current state, but Louis had the foresight to book the party in room that’s connected to Liam’s. Zayn’s thankful for a friend that always thinks of these things.  
  
“Shh, shh, shh,” Liam keeps saying, pawing at the wall, fumbling around for the light switch. Zayn’s laughing and laughing, the best birthday ever, his face hot, the heat from the tequila and the Red Bull Jägerbombs Harry kept feeding him (“Trust me, you’ll want to be awake for this,” he said each time he handed one over to Zayn) spreading all over his body, one arm around Liam, steadying himself, Liam’s shirt tightly gripped in his fists. He tries to form coherent thoughts, but he’s a little incapable and this closeness to Liam is so new, he can’t quite think about anything else.  
  
Liam finds the switch and the room is flooded with a crisp white light that burns through Zayn’s eyes a little. “Ow, too bright,” he giggles. Liam laughs his terrible laugh, “Sorry, hee hee hee,” and it’s the stupidest sound that Zayn has heard in all the world, in all of his nineteen years, but it makes his heart hitch a little in his chest and it makes him want to tickle Liam until all of the noise he can hear in his head is that stupid laugh. He wants to drown in it, and he doesn’t know why. Somehow, in all the stumbling and rustling about, they managed to turn off the main lights and turn on the ones by the entrance hall.  
  
Liam lies down on his half-made bed, kicking off his shoes as Zayn follows, towering over him. He plants his legs on either side of Liam, crawling over Liam slowly, on his hands and knees. There’s a fire and a spark behind his heavy-lidded eyes, daring Liam to do something about this proximity. Liam stills himself, wide-eyed and curious, anticipating Zayn’s next move. “Come on, then,” he whispers softly, cocking his head up a little. “Come on,” he says, more insistently, before bringing his head down to meet Liam’s.  
  
The room is quiet except for the rustle of the sheets and their own mismatched and ragged breathing. The sheets smell faintly of Liam’s sweat and perfume, and Zayn wants to burrow his face in it.  
  
Because he couldn’t take it anymore, and because it’s his birthday, Zayn closes the distance between his lips and Liam’s. He moves them tentatively against Liam’s until Liam opens his mouth a little to reciprocate. His beating heart drowns out everything, it's so loud in his ears. Suddenly, he is so, so, so aware of this moment. Although he knows he should just focus on the kiss and Liam’s lips—“pillows,” Louis called them once—he can’t help but be bewildered that this is happening at all. Liam is actually kissing him back. Zayn realizes that his eyes are closed and when he opens them, lips still against Liam’s, he sees that Liam has his eyes open and that they were watching Zayn. His expression is unreadable, but when Zayn breaks away from his stare and from their kiss, Liam’s head follows his, more surprised by the separation that followed the initial contact.  
  
Zayn rests his head on Liam’s again, trying to steady his breathing. What was he doing? He tries to ignore his growing erection and the way his heart felt like it was clawing his way out of his chest. Liam is quiet, catching his breath, eyes trained on Zayn. One of his hands was resting on one of Zayn’s arm, squeezing it lightly, as if trying to communicate his need. Zayn’s not sure what he wants to do now. He’s full of alcohol, but he’s still zinging around inside his body. He doesn’t quite know what to do with all of what he’s feeling, so when Liam tries to say something, Zayn crushes his lips against Liam’s. He can't deal with conversation right now, so he goes with what he feels. Liam lets a strangled growl rest in his throat. Zayn’s kisses him for a long time, deeply and, fueled by Liam’s reciprocation, more feverishly. He feels desperately wanting for more.  
  
Still on his knees, he lowers himself on his elbows, hands finding Liam’s face. He kisses him with all of his pent-up emotions, a release of all the confusion, the longing, the utter devastation of feeling so much farther away from Liam than he wanted to be. Liam’s hands find their way to Zayn’s waist, and when he opens his mouth a little, Zayn takes that as an invitation for his tongue. Liam groans a little at this, so Zayn coaxes his mouth to open a little bit more. Liam’s hips buck up against Zayn’s crotch a little, and Zayn can’t help but let out a low growl. His mouth finds its way to Liam’s neck, sucking at the base, the tender part by his clavicle. He knows that everyone’s probably going to see this tomorrow, but he doesn’t care because Liam lets him kiss him there, and that’s all the permission he needs.  
  
Mouth free, Liam finally says “I’ve always wondered what that would feel like," and Zayn bursts out laughing. He rolls off of Liam and can’t stop himself from laughing. Most of it’s from relief: first, because he hadn’t gotten rejected by the boy he'd been pining after, and second, because he knows that Liam’s not going to make it weird. He could do this, he thinks. He could deal with this just fine.  
  
“Well, was it nice?”  
  
“Everything I ever wanted,” Liam says, voice thick and satisfied. It almost sounds like a purr. He looks at Zayn and smiles, face replete from tension and ready to sleep. “Happy birthday, Zaynie.”  
  
“Thanks, Payno,” he says back, not looking away. “Best birthday ever.”  
  
Their hands find each other and they stare at the dark ceiling for a while, quiet. Zayn finds comfort in the knowledge that he can be quiet with Liam, that they don’t need to feel every space with meaningless words, and that it doesn’t feel weird that they don’t have anything to say. Even after this curious turn of events. Finally, he says, “I’m tired.”  
  
Liam scoots up higher on the bed and opens his arms to Zayn. Zayn smiles and crawls up to the space he’s been sleeping in for the past few nights. “You know,” Liam says as Zayn burrows into his arms, “you fit pretty perfectly here.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I think so, too,” Zayn says, without much thought or hesitation. He winces a little, but he figures that it’s okay because it’s the truth, anyway. He' was never very good at lying. “Good night, P.”  
  
“Good night, Z.”  
  
They fall asleep at just about the same time as the sun was beginning to rise. Zayn knows that he has to leave in about two hours, but he doesn’t even care about the sleep he’s lost because he just had the best dream in all of his nineteen years. The best part was that he was awake for all of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road (in bed with Liam, eep!), back home, and then back on the road again (in a bunk with Liam!)

Zayn is nudged awake by a nose. A cold nose. “Stop it,” he mumbles.  
  
“You’ve got a flight to catch, remember?” he hears a reply, confused for a little bit, and then it hits him like a train. _Liam_. His sleep-addled brain panics and he sits up really quickly.  
  
“Ow.” Pain shoots up his head from the sudden movement and he opens his eyes a crack to see Liam, partially resting against the headboard, looking at him warily. Shirtless and sleepy-eyed. Oh God. Liam winces at Zayn, “Bad hangover?”  
  
Zayn nods, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He rarely ever drinks. The bad teenage habit he did pick up was smoking—his mum had been furious, but it’s easy to tune her out now that he lives so far away for most of the year—but he rarely ever drinks. He can keep it down, sure, but the hangovers he gets are monstrous. As if he didn’t have enough to suffer through, he sighs.  
  
“C’mere,” Liam says. When Zayn tips back towards Liam, he grabs his head and kisses it, softly. “There. Never better,” a smile and Zayn dies a little inside, “Now, go get ready. You don’t want to miss seeing your family, do you?”  
  
Zayn pauses and thinks about the tangled sheets and the shirtless Liam, and the kisses from last night and—ugh, he _really_ needs to stay away from the booze. Zayn guesses that they weren’t going to talk about last night right now, if at all. He doesn’t know what to think about that, so he slides off the bed to look for his socks. He’d slept fully clothed, a regret he may have for the rest of his life. “Oh, someone’s been trying to call you,” Liam says absently as he searches for the T.V. remote. “It’s probably important.”  
  
Zayn locates his socks, puts on his shoes, and sighs. He flops back down on the bed to look for his mobile and Liam winces at the shoes touching his covers but says nothing. Zayn knows it bothers him, but it’s not like Liam’s going to be staying in this room for much longer, anyway. He finds his phone, sees _7 Missed Calls_. Shit. He sighs again and gets off the bed, as quickly as his hangover would allow.  
  
“Hey,” Liam says, sternly. Zayn whips his head back and looks at him expectantly. “No more sighing, birthday boy.” Liam tries to keep an expressionless face but fails.  
  
Zayn laughs at this and says, “Who’s gonna stop me?”  
  
“They don’t call me Officer Payne for nothing,” Liam says, and awkwardly adds, “Ya punk!” Both of them burst out laughing and Zayn falls on Liam in a heap, burying his head in Liam’s arm. His phone buzzes again, and he sighs and declines the call.  
  
_am up >:(_  
  
He knows it’s a petulant thing to text, and that he just turned 18 so there’s no excuse or reason for it, but it’s just so hard to step away from Liam. “Give us a kiss, then,” he says playfully, and Zayn leans over him again, and Liam wraps him in a hug. He knows _immediately_ that this was a friendly, fond hug. No sexual tension or longing, and for once, he’s glad. He doesn’t know if he can take that today, since he’s leaving for home. “Have a happy birthday, okay?” Liam says, kissing Zayn’s cheek. “No sighing.”  
  
“No sighing,” Zayn repeats. He wants to lean into it but he stops himself and walks away, pausing by the door frame to give a little wave.  
  
“I’ll miss you,” Liam calls after him.  
  
“I’ll miss you right back,” laughs Zayn.

  
  
•

  
His flight was short and he jolts awake as they're about to land, before even really falling asleep, though he supposes that is to be expected. He’d like to blame the alcohol, but then what followed had been something so dear to him that he thinks he’d knock back ten more of those shots if it meant that sleeping next to Liam—and, okay, _kissing_ him—would happen again. “Everything I ever wanted,” he’d said. Zayn doesn’t know if he wants to know what Liam meant by that, exactly. All he knew was that Liam said it, and he heard it, and that’s all that matters to him.  
  
Home is the safest place Zayn can think of. He comes from a fairly big family. Not as big as Louis’, but big enough. They’re all so close to each other, though, and he tries to fight the twinge of jealousy that swells up in his stomach when they talk about how Safaa got in trouble at school for picking a tiny fight with one of her classmates last month ( _radio station interview_ , thinks Zayn, matching up their timelines with his), or that Waliyha has been spending all her time on the phone, a permanent secret smile plastered on her face.  
  
“I’m not, though!” Waliyha insists. “I’m not _always_ on my phone, just sometimes.”  
  
But Zayn notices that she was, though. Even though she’s supposed to be spending time with him. He supposes that he expected more talking to each other or _some_ interaction, but she settles next to Zayn on the sofa while he watches a movie he hadn’t been able to see, and she lays her head on his lap. Her fingers whiz past the letters, and he can see her secret smile, and he thinks that this is actually enough.

  
  
•

  
The next day, “One Thing” was uploaded on their YouTube channel. Seeing the video for the first time jolts Zayn. They look like babies. It _feels_ like a lifetime away, even though it really isn’t. He remembers his _kiss_ and his face burns at the thought of it. The song starts, and objectively, he knew to expect Liam’s face first after all the wide shots, since he _does_ sing the first part, but it still took him by surprise. Liam’s so fucking gorgeous, it’s not fair.  
  
He spends the next few minutes acutely aware of how he looks in the video. To him, he looks completely in love or in awe, at least, of Liam, and an ice-cold fear sweeps through his body and seizes his heart… until the more rational part of him informs him that he probably doesn’t have anything to worry about because everyone else would undoubtedly be looking at Harry or Liam or Louis or Niall. Or all five of them, because this video cuts so fast and all over the place, and it’s hard to keep track of who’s standing beside each other, and who’s arms are around waists, and it’s just a jumble of limbs and faces. It turned out quite nicely, Zayn thinks, and he remembers just how fun that day was, forgetting about how he whined about the cold and how he was so tired by the end of it.  
  
His phone buzzes in his pocket.  
  
_aww look at u makin luvv eyes at mr payne. how adorable xx_  
  
Fucking Louis. He pockets his phone and tries to ignore him. He can’t though, and after ten minutes of solid willpower, he whips his phone out of his pocket so fast that he nearly throws it across the room, if he hadn’t had a good grip on it. His sisters look at him funny, but he’s used to ignoring them.  
  
_wasn’t !! u sure we’re watching the same the same video mate ? :p_  
  
Zayn cringes as he pressed ‘send.’ He knows it was a weak reply, but he couldn’t let that slide. He _wasn’t_ making love eyes. No matter what the camera would like the general public to believe. Fuck, he thinks, relenting to Louis’ teasing. I _was_ making love eyes. I am screwed.  
  
He gets two texts from Louis, one after the other:  
  
_weak, even 4 u_  
  
_god we look so presh at 1:31, ha ! check out 2:21. u totally ignore him trying to show off his dance moves lol !_  
  
Zayn clicks on the time stamps Louis sent. He smiles at the frame of him and Louis. They _were_ pretty cute. That really was a fun day, considering the whiskey-induced word vomit that came after that he’s trying not to think about. He clicks to the next time stamp, eyebrows gathered together. One of the main things he remembers about that day was making sure he didn’t look at Liam too much.  
  
_he was NOT trying to show off, lou. and we do look cute x_  
  
_we always do ! gotta go, love u, see u soon x_  
  
_luv u_  
  
He rewinds again and tries to look for more evidence of his moony-eyed ass. Doniya walks past his door and dips her head into the room. When she sees what he’s watching, she lets out an exasperated, disgusted sigh, “Aren’t you tired of seeing your face?”  
  
In between annoyed and endeared, Zayn barely looks up as he shouts, “I love you, too!” right after her.  
  


  
•

  
So, they’ve been texting over the break. A lot. Which is pretty funny considering they’re seeing each other again in three days. He tells himself to chill the fuck out, to not get sucked into it, to not make it a big deal. He can’t afford to make things awkward on the road.  
  
Liam’s texts always sound vaguely sexual, too, but Zayn’s not sure if he means to do it or if he even realizes what he’s saying. He always texts him completely random stuff like “It’s so big, Zayn, you’ve gotta see it” (apparently about a tree outside his bedroom window. A tree.) or “My bed’s so big, ahhh” followed by “I don’t remember it being this hard” or “My butt hurts” for no real reason.  
  
Zayn thinks that he could spout off a number of _That’s what she said_ ’s in reply, but he sort of doesn’t want Liam to stop sending him funny, silly texts. He can see Liam blushing, a thought that for some reason makes his cock twitch, and he decides that he wants to keep texting Vaguely Sexual Liam for as long as he can. He just lets him make a fool out of himself for Zayn’s benefit.  
  
Life at home is pretty normal. He didn’t really know what to expect. It’s weird to have been out of it for so long, but he gets the hang of it again. He goes out with his family a few times before too many people ended up recognizing him. The rest of his holiday was spent at home or in his room. He runs his hands over his desk and his paint. He missed painting. He has a sketchbook on the road, and some pencils and ink, but he couldn’t really paint on the bus. And even if he could, there just wasn’t enough time. He missed his comic books. He missed his pajamas that matched. He missed his bed and his scratchy sheets. He missed his family and his friends.  
  
Once he’s settled down into his old, familiar routine, he realizes that he has just a few days before he has to go back on the road. Zayn was watching Saturday morning cartoons with his baby sisters when this dawns on him. It wrenches his heart away from his body a little, and all of a sudden, he finds it so hard to breathe. He doesn’t want to worry anyone, though, so he sets down his bowl of cereal by the coffee table, and carefully runs to his room. He thinks he might die—he really can’t breathe—and then he morbidly thinks about how funny it would be for his parents and his siblings to find him deceased in a onesie, curled up on his bedroom floor.  
  
Zayn tries to steady his breathing and reaches for his phone, scrolling past so many names until he reaches Liam’s number. They didn’t call each other the entire break, just sent texts back and forth, but Zayn can’t help it. Liam picks up on the first ring. “Hey,” he says, brightly.  
  
“Hi, Li,” Zayn says, trying not to sound too panicked. Liam picks up on this anyway.  
  
“What’s wrong?” He _hears_ Liam’s frown, and it makes him panic a tiny bit more. _Stop it_ , he tells himself.  
  
“Nothing, I’m just…” He tries to find the words. Was he worried? Scared? Dying?  
  
“Don’t worry, Zaynie,” Liam says, softly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just here, okay?”  
  
And Zayn’s heart is crushed into smithereens, because that? That was the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, and Liam doesn’t even realize it. Slowly, he picks himself back up, piece by piece, listening to Liam’s silence over the phone. He gradually feels better. A few minutes had passed, so he’s not even sure if Liam’s on the other line, still. It was so quiet. “Li?”  
  
“M’just here, Zayn,” he says. “Are you okay now?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“I didn’t even do anything,” Liam chuckles a little and Zayn keeps quiet, thinking about how wrong Liam was, how he just somehow knew what he needed from him. “Zayn? See you in a few days, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn swallows thickly. “I’ll see you.”  
  
“Love you.”  
  
“Love you, too.”  
  
Zayn stays on the floor for a couple more minutes before hoisting himself up and brushing himself off. He runs his fingers through his hair and he shuts his eyes, leaning his head against his door. He can do this. He just needs to get through the days, one by one. The thought of being away from home terrifies him again, the fear of being so far away from everything he grew up with, gripping his heart. But he thinks about Liam, and Louis, Harry, and Niall. He figures that for a team, they’re not bad to have around. Zayn releases one last shaky sigh before he gets up and walks back down to where he was sitting with his sisters.  
  
“Where did you go, Zayn?” Safaa huffs. “You missed, like, everything.”  
  
“I just needed to, um, breathe, I guess,” he says with a smile. He ruffles her hair in the way that he knows annoys her. It does and she waves her hand around to stop him. He laughs a little and sees Waliyha on the other side of the sofa make a face. “Your cereal’s soggy,” she says, matter-of-factly.  
  
He’s going to miss this, but home’s a place where he can always go back to when things get a little hard. He knows he has to be strong, and he thinks he can be if he’s around the boys. The goodbyes this time around aren’t as watery and as sad as the first one, and Zayn’s a tiny bit glad about that.

  
•

  
  
The first couple of weeks weren’t that bad. Invigorated by their short visits home, the boys weren’t as tired or as irritable as they had been right before the break. It feels nice, to goof around again, making jokes that don’t make much sense and pranking each other, even though the pranks are rarely ever funny.  
  
“Can you believe we have a day off?” Harry wonders aloud. They had been going around the city they were at (Zayn always forgets where they are; it’s just the way he’s wired) for the past two hours, doing a bit of shopping together while Niall, Louis, and Liam went to the cinemas to see what was showing. He wasn’t much into shopping, but all the sitting around they did on the bus made him feel a bit terrified of the prospect of being stuck in a dark room for hours, so he went along with Harry instead.  
  
Harry has a peculiar way of going about his shopping, often doubling back and returning to a store they had been to, or rounding back to a street they just came from because he missed another shop that interested him. He doesn’t buy _a lot_ , really, but when he falls in love with something, he gets attached. So far, he has purchased a few scarves, a brooch for his mum, some strange trinket for Gemma, and new sweatbands for his bodyguard. Harry likes giving gifts for no reason. If he finds something he thinks that a friend will like, he’ll get it as a present, no occasion, no questions asked. He thinks it’s ridiculous not to, that it’s fate that brings you to the object, somehow.  
  
At one of the last stores they could go to before having to head back, Harry’s eyes fall on a pair of braces. They were navy blue, covered in silly little shrimp. Harry hesitates and sort of just gazes lovingly at them, which surprises Zayn because Harry’s usually so impulsive with gifts. This was such a perfect gift for Louis. He whispers from behind Harry, “He’ll like those.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“He’ll _love_ them.”  
  
Harry grins, “Yeah, I thought he might.” He picks the braces up and strides over to the cashier to pay for his loot. Zayn wonders what happened over the break and the first few weeks back, if things had changed between Harry and Louis. He has trouble recalling anything weird, though, because they’re still as affectionate as ever.  
  
Harry strides back to Zayn and says, “Ready to go?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
Harry frowns, though, and says, “Hey, you didn’t get anything. Did I unwittingly drag you along to this completely boring shopping trip?”  
  
Zayn smiles at him fondly. “Shut up, you twat,” he says. “I just missed you is all. It was nice to just talk. Thinking about being stuck in another small room…” Zayn trails and shudders involuntarily.  
  
“Oh, I know, right?” Harry says. “I don’t know how they can stand it.”  
  
Zayn shrugs and they walk back to where their chauffeur said he’d pick them up. Harry leans on a lamppost and h’s looking out and away and Zayn can’t help but blurt out, “Are you and Lou okay?”  
  
“Hmm?” Harry says, and smiles. “Of course. We’re good. We’re amazing.”  
  
“Okay, I was just checking, I guess,” Zayn says, unsure of what to say next. He’s a little unnerved that Harry’s even quieter than he is, and he’s immediately embarrassed by the question he chooses to ask next. “Are you… together?”  
  
Harry lets out a chuckle, “That’s a complicated question, my friend,” and Zayn wants to throttle him because that is such a vague answer. Harry quickly adds, though, “But I know what you’re really asking, and yes, we have fooled around. Many, many glorious times.”  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, and says, “Well, everyone knows _that_ ,” which sends Harry into a severe laughing fit, unable to breathe, wheezing as the car pulls up beside them.  
  
Harry climbs into the car, followed in by Zayn. “I don’t know,” he says, thoughtfully. “We never really said anything, so I don’t know where we stand… but we kiss a lot and you know—“  
  
“Too much information!”  
  
“–and I like him so much because he’s so funny, and he’s so fit. _And_ his voice gives me serious Nick Carter flashbacks. How can you not jump his bones, though, Zayn? And, I don’t know, I-I think he likes me, too?” The last part lilts into a question and Zayn is tempted to tell Harry all about Lou’s undying love and devotion, but it’s not his secret to tell. “But, I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “We’ve got ourselves in kind of a pickle, don’t we?”  
  
“Indeed,” Zayn says, sadly. He knows they can’t _really_ come out, if it comes to that. Not now, anyway. It’d be a bad move for everyone involved. Their demographic is largely prepubescent girls, and he knows that just won't fly. One couple in the group might've been cute, but two?  
  
As if reading his mind, Harry says, “Poor Niall. What are the chances?”  
  
Zayn snorts at this and they spend the next few minutes riding in silence. And because Zayn can’t help it, he asks Harry, “Do you want to be? You know… together.”  
  
Harry considers this, as though he’s never been met by such a question before. “I think I’d like that very much,” Harry starts and trails off.  
  
“But?”  
  
“But I also really like my job,” Harry says, plainly. And then, quietly, “A small part of me thinks he’s my soulmate, though. Minuscule part, really, but it’s there. I just want to keep having fun, and keep working, and be around Louis when I can. He doesn’t have to be my boyfriend. I don’t need him to be that for me to feel what I feel. It's like a secret, I guess,” Harry pauses then continues. "But, like, a good one. A secret just for me and Lou."  
  
Zayn could only nod, because he gets it so much. They both nap all the way back to the bus, where they get to sleep for another hour and a half before they were woken up so they could rehearse for the show that night. Zayn thinks this was brutal and unfair, but when Liam strides into the room in just a tank, all of his complaints die on his tongue. Liam’s eyes scan the room before reaching him. He smiles, and Zayn’s heart plummets into his stomach. _Keep it together, you dork_ , he scolds himself, but his heart fills up again, because he sees that Liam’s worn one of Zayn's snapbacks, and to be honest, it looks way better on him, he thinks.  
  
The boys make it through the practice okay so they end up going to wardrobe, hair, and makeup. They don’t bother showering, except for Harry, since they were all going to be drenched in sweat by the end of it anyway.  
  
The show was fantastic, nobody made a mistake, and Liam didn’t joke around when Zayn sang his heart out to him. He knows he’s being obvious, but he doesn’t care, really. They’re all pretty affectionate towards each other anyway, he thinks, as he risks a hand on the small of Liam’s back. He doesn’t flinch. If anything, his smile grows wider.  
  
They shower and climb into the bunk, as always, and they smile at each other a lot.  
  
“Missed you.”  
  
“Missed you more.”  
  
“Missed you most.”  
  
“Missed you more most.”  
  
“Cut that out,” Louis says from his own bunk.  
  
They don’t kiss, but that’s okay, because Zayn’s tired and he’s in Liam’s arms anyway, so he’s got nothing to complain about, really. By the time he falls asleep to the sound of Liam’s soft snores and the his warm breath on Zayn’s neck, he thinks that the next time they kiss, he wants to be alert and sober. He wants it to be intentional and deliberate. For now, he’s okay with this. He burrows himself further into Liam,  as close as they could possibly be to each other, and Liam just tightens his arms around Zayn, a perfect fit, sighing as he sleeps even deeper.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of many, many feelings and changes and a lot of swear words, I suppose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: So I made a mistake in the last chapter because I am terrible at math and logic. Zayn’s birthday is supposed to be his 19th. I messed up, I’m sorry. I changed it already in the previous chapters, but we’re going to carry on in this chapter with Zaynie as a strapping young and beautiful 19 year old, in love with also-at-this-point-19-year-old Leeyum. Okay? Okay.
> 
> 2: I wanted to get this done in six chapters, so this is going to be a bit longer than usual, and a little bit sad. Sorry.
> 
> Thank you and apologies again.

Working on the second album, everyone decides that it might be a good idea if they started writing some of the music. Zayn’s not sure how they all agreed to release another album so soon after the first one, either, but there it is. He doesn’t really know much of what they talk about when they talk about contracts, really. He knows he’s _technically_ an adult, but it’s hard to wrap his brain around the legal jargon when he’s running on two hours of sleep and not nearly enough rest and the constant flashing of fans’ cameras and the screaming. He knows it’s probably not a good idea that his eyes glaze over whenever someone tries to talk to him about all of this, but he can’t help it. He’s tired and he’s tired of himself not even enjoying all of this, because if you look at it from any way other than the way they can see it, their lives are honestly pretty great. Deep down, he knows that. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.

Anyway, Zayn tries to write songs, but it’s _hard_. He knows that it’s a foreign feeling for everyone there, knows what his huffing and puffing looks like to everyone else. He’s not being a diva; he’s just better at feeling feelings than saying them out loud. And making them rhyme to a melody. He’s better at singing the songs than at writing them. He can look at a song, reach inside himself, and mean every word. He just can’t be the one who _writes_ it.

The long nights make them testy, and Louis, of all people, is the most prone to saying things like “It’s hard on everyone, mate,” voice on edge, like he’s trying really hard not to punch Zayn or something, but he’s also somehow trying to be nice about it, anyway. When this happens, and Zayn snaps at everyone because he really _can’t_ put what he feels into words, Liam puts a hand around his shoulder or moves his hand, comfortingly, up and down his thigh, and tries to comfort him a little. Louis scoffs, sometimes, but then immediately looks like he kicked a puppy when he sees Zayn’s wounded face. Sometimes Louis just walks away from them and tries to rearrange his words by a different corner of the room, by himself. When he’s feeling a bit more friendly, he just pads towards Zayn, squeezing as close to him as possible, and shows him what he’s come up with so far.

“Just write down what you feel, Zayn,” Louis coaxes one time. They’d been working on a song for a few weeks, coming back every few days to see how they can make it come together. “You _know_ you’ve got feelings, babe.” Louis eyes darts over to where Liam had slid down his seat, engrossed in his humming and scratching some words off of whatever he was working on. Zayn kicks Louis’s shin and is met with a grin anyway. “Your secret’s safe with me,” Louis says.

“Apparently, it’s not so secret, yeah?”

“Well, _he_ doesn’t know,” Louis jerks his hand towards Liam, “or he’s pretending not to notice—for your benefit, probably—so it barely counts.”

“It _feels_ like it’s the only thing that even fucking matters anymore,” Zayn groans as Louis rolls his eyes. It’s Louis’ job to be melodramatic, but Zayn can’t help it. He pouts and buries his face in his hands. “I just want it to go away.”

Louis snorts. “No, you don’t.”

He has a point, and Zayn’s not about to pick a fight about _that_. Instead, he thinks about world issues—poverty, racism, religion, inequality, _everything_ that’s bad in the world—and he feels a little guilty about what he’s been calling his biggest crisis. Zayn bites his lip. It’s easy to forget about the rest of the world when you’re sitting in a bus half the year with the same damn people day in and day out.

He forces himself to think about love, instead. That’s what they’re supposed to be selling, right? He feels a little queasy about that, the thought of bottling up love and selling it like a commodity, but he pushes it away from his mind. He chuckles a little to himself, given his own current love predicament, which honestly isn’t saying much. What does Zayn know about falling in love? Why would anyone trust him? Louis eyes him curiously, and Zayn just shrugs. In the end, he manages to have one, single line included in the song. The weeks writing it doesn’t feel like a total waste, but then they have to move on to the rest of the album and he feels his chest constricting because it means he has to start all over again.

Liam’s taken to this songwriting thing really well. Louis, too. They spend a lot of time together out of the enforced songwriting sessions, scribbling stuff together, heads bent over paper and feelings and tunes. It makes Zayn a little jealous. He’s trying harder at it, though. He still doesn’t feel like the most eloquent or creative, but it’s okay. He just needs them to feel like he’s in it with them, that he’s still part of the team.

Zayn feels really great about contributing even just a tiny bit to their songs, but everything else—all of the tour stuff, and promotions, and the interviews, and the insufferable _gossiping_ —made him forget about the songs a little. It’s like when they’re done with one thing, they have a whole list of other things to deal with, and it gets a little hard to breathe. He misses everyone back home and everything about his room, but he knows he has it good. It’s hard to forget when he’s faced with thousands of people every so often, all of whom came down to see him and the boys.

On the stage, he lets loose and he lets himself laugh. He tries to dance—another thing he’s said before that he didn’t do—and he loves how far away his old self feels like because he doesn’t think he could’ve done all of this a year or two ago. He was just a shy kid that mumbled a little with a penchant for comics, sleeping in, and singing in the shower. Now, apparently, he can dance in front of thousands of people, looking like a dork and just not care. He looks over to Louis, Niall, Harry, and Liam, and his heart fills up with something he can’t quite name, just like that. He can’t help but touch them, frequently, like if he doesn’t feel them against his fingers, they won’t, can’t possibly be rea

This thing with Liam—whatever it is—is under control, too. They kiss, sometimes, but mostly they talk a lot or play video games or Zayn sketches stuff when Liam’s working out and everyone else is going about town. When he feels like watching superhero movies, he knows he can go to Liam, or if he just wants to read and not feel the pressure of conversation.

But Zayn tries not to initiate a lot of contact, because he doesn’t want his whole life to revolve around Liam. He thinks it’s a good thing to extract himself from this situation while he can still nip it in the bud.

(He can pretend not to be completely over the moon, in love with Liam. Not everyone knows the real situation here.)

Zayn thinks about how, in all of their interviews, they gush like a proper couple. Or he sees himself onscreen, leaning just that tiny bit closer to Liam. He also sees the way Liam pays attention to him, too, but he shoves it back down his brain because he can’t afford to think about it, really. Then, he thinks about how he looks at Liam, how it must look to everyone in the known world, and he groans. He’s trying, honestly.

He has a lot of trouble keeping his hands to himself when it comes to Liam, and although it’s not a big deal, he just would rather not deal with awkwardness. That would be disastrous. When they’d gotten back from the break, he’d been wrapped up in getting enough rest, working, and catching up with Liam that he kind of neglected the others. They’re nice enough to not say anything, though, and Zayn’s thankful for that.

He sees the three of them huddled near the television set and feels a strong ache in his heart because he just realized that he somehow misses them, even though they’ve been around each other for weeks.

“The princess has emerged from her slumber,” Louis says.

“Shut it.” Zayn sits down on the floor beside Louis and crosses his legs. He was playing a racing game, Harry sprawled across the sofa, utterly lost in a book, head in Niall’s lap. Niall’s on Twitter again, trying his best to reply to everyone but also not tweet so much. Zayn doesn’t think Niall gets that he can’t possibly make everyone who loves them happy, so what he does is try. His hand is carding through Harry’s mess of curls in a way that makes Zayn’s heart hitch, a smile creeping into his face.

“Missed you, too,” Louis smirks, handing him one of the controllers.

 

 

•

 

“Ugh, you are such a fireman.” Zayn and Liam are left inside the tour bus as the rest of the lads took a break from recording to grab a bite and just escape for a few hours. Zayn’s not really in the mood to be potentially bombarded by strangers asking for photos, and Liam, well. He just wanted to keep Zayn company. Apparently.

“What? What does that even mean?”

“No, you are! You are,” Zayn insists, shaking his head to stop Liam from talking. The game on the screen carries on, but if Zayn’s honest, neither of them are paying much attention to it. “You are. You’d never think twice about saving someone from a fire. Even if it was a stranger—or worse,” he lowers is voice into something like a whisper, “someone you don’t even like.” Liam’s eyes are trained on the screen and from where Zayn is sitting, he can see a small bud of pink—Liam’s tongue!—peeking out, his face arranged in a vague expression of concentration. He continues, “Someone you absolutely, completely loathe. You’d still save them. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”

“Well, I can’t just stand there and pretend that a real live human being isn’t being roasted alive by flames,” Liam reasons, voice steady. His gaze flickers momentarily to Zayn. “Could _you_ leave someone behind if you knew you could save them? I don’t think so.”

“Yes, sure. My conscience would tell me to be a big damn hero and save the day, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Liam. I’m not exactly in prime physical condition—“

“I beg to differ,” he mutters quietly, absentmindedly, eyes trained on the screen, but his expression shifts ever-so-subtly when he realizes what he just said.

The room is filled with silence that threatens to swallow them whole. Zayn doesn’t want to say anything, not even to make a joke. Everything seems to be set on some precarious balance that the slightest persuasion towards _any_ direction will cause a full and inevitable collapse. He coughs instead and takes Liam’s moment of distraction to lay it all on his character.

“Hey, you’re cheating!” Liam yells helplessly.

“Am not,” counters Zayn, having a slightly harder time killing off Liam’s soldier now that Liam’s snapped back to attention. He manages, though, and he wins the game. Zayn smirks. “Another round, Li?” he asks. 

“I’m not really in the mood anymore,” Liam scowls.

Zayn rolls his eyes. _What a baby_. He checks the time and they’ve got a bit more time to kill. He doesn’t want them to do their own thing, but he doesn’t know what else to do, so he says “Bed, then?”

Liam perks up at this, a small smile already forming on his face. Without warning, he leaps from the sofa and shouts, “Race you!” as he thunders down to the bunks, leaving Zayn sitting on the floor. Zayn sighs as he pulls himself up, a goofy smile edging its way on his face. He’s picking up after them, placing the games in their cases and making sure the console and T.V. are turned off. He’s humming to himself, too, and looks up at the noise Louis makes as he enters the room. Louis takes in the humming and the small sideways smile he caught Zayn in and realizes that he’s happy about Liam, _again_ , and Louis actually scowls at this. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, loudly.

Zayn isn’t even fazed by that. “You love it,” he teases.

“Yeah,” Louis admits begrudgingly. “Even though it makes me vom. I love it because I love you and I love that big doof that’s waiting for you, so leave the cleaning up to me and entangle yourself further in this complicated web of love you’re so keen on weaving.”

Zayn’s face heats up at this, and he leaps up and gives Louis a kiss on the cheek before he runs towards Liam. “Thanks, Lou.”

“Your first child better be named Louis,” he hisses after Zayn.

When Zayn reaches the bunks, Liam’s texting on his phone, brows furrowed.

“Who’s that?” Zayn says cheerfully. He was hoping it was Karen so he could ask Liam to say hi to her for him. He knows that Karen loves him, and his stomach grows a little warm at this. He’s never been that great with his friends’ parents, since he’s so quiet and, well—Anyway, he kind of loves Karen and he loves that she loves him the most.

“Oh, it’s no one,” Liam says, looking up at Zayn distractedly and pocketing his phone. From that, Zayn knows it’s Danielle, but he pushes away the thought. He’s not going to let that ruin anything. Liam’s face breaks into a smile that looks more like a grimace, and he pats the space beside him. “I can stay by the window, this time,” Liam says, quietly, almost shyly. Zayn’s chest feels like it’s about to burst.

“Yay,” says Zayn, remembering the way Liam said that all those weeks ago. Liam seems to remember, too, and can’t keep himself from smiling. Zayn climbs in the bunk and scoots inside. Instantly, he knows why Liam had always opted to stay by the bunk’s opening. He’s so… well, big. Zayn never even realized that they were so different in size. He feels a little stupid, having overlooked this literal enormous and obvious fact, but he allows a little, nice thought to form in his head. _Maybe this is why we fit so well_.

“D’you want to switch places?” Zayn asks tentatively. “It looks a little crowded in there.” Liam just wraps one of his arms around Zayn’s waist, the other around Zayn’s neck in a weird sort of hug, and Liam curls up against him, face nuzzling against his cheek. “M’fine, thanks,” he says with a yawn.

“I’d save you, you know,” Zayn says, his lips mouthing the words against Liam’s skin.

“Babe,” Liam whispers, barely audible. “You save me everyday. Sleep now.”

“Okay,” Zayn says as he relaxes into Liam. “Sleep now.”

“Night, Zaina,” Liam whispers and Zayn smiles at Liam’s dorky little self, as he falls asleep.

 

•

 

Nothing, absolutely nothing compares to the feeling of seeing his name alongside the others’ in their next album. They were at an actual conference room, crowding over sheets of paper plastered with their faces. His mouth breaks out into a wide grin, Zayn can’t help it, as he thumbs through the proofs for the album inlay for _Take Me Home_. He loves the name, savors it, and then he tucks away that part of himself that wants to go back. This is his life. For now, anyway. For as long as he gets to have it. Honestly, though, he’s happy that this is his life. There’s a million other ways it could have turned out, but he reckons he’s doing pretty well for himself. He clutches at this golden truth— _his_ golden truth—to keep himself happy when the sadness of missing his family inevitably blooms low in his chest.

Liam appears beside him, and bumps his hip into Zayn, grinning widely. “Crazy, innit?”

“Extremely, bat-shit insane.”

“We did it, babe.”

Zayn breathes out shakily, “Yeah, we did.”

It’s quiet for a while. “How long d’you reckon it’ll take for them to realize that we’re pretty much all just a bunch of idiot boys?”

“Doubt they ever will, Li.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, slowly. “I kind of really love us, too, anyway.”

Zayn grins at him and moves his eyes over the proofs again. It’s _incredible_ , honestly. His name will be printed on millions of these little books, and it’ll be proof that he made something special, was part of something pretty miraculous. It’s priceless, a treasure, something he gets to keep in his bones, no matter how awful life may turn out to be in the future.

He scolds himself for thinking terrible thoughts about _the end_ when he’s around his boys, fawning over the new CDs. As usual, he immediately thinks that everything is perfect, but Louis has a few comments, as does Harry and Niall. Specific ones, too. Liam’s just clarifies a lot of things, as though there were some deeper meaning as to why they picked red for some of the text. 

Something warm spreads across Zayn’s body and in that moment, he is content, quietly, fondly looking at his teammates, his life line. He realizes that whatever happens, whenever it does, he knows he’ll be fine. He’s got the best team in the world—even if they are a bunch of idiot boys.

 

•

 

Zayn reassess his attraction to Liam. Is it just an intense friendly love? Or something… else? He thinks about how much they’ve been messing around lately, and it messes with his head even more. What he has with Liam feels _more_ than a friends-with-benefits type of thing, but it’s not an actual relationship. Obviously.

But _was_ it more than a lonely hookup to pass the time when they’re bored and lonely on tour? Did it mean anything more? He can’t stake a claim on Liam, though, can he? Even though Liam’s the sweetest on him, looks at him like he loves him, _says_ that he does love him, it doesn’t mean anything. Not in the way that Zayn wants, anyway. Suddenly, their whole situation is suffocating, so he tries to turn it off. In interviews, he makes it a point to not _always_ sit beside Liam. He tries to remember not to reach out awkwardly. He tries to remember that he’s _not_ Liam’s boyfriend, tasked to protect him, and pepper his face with kisses, and— 

Louis always tries to get Zayn to talk to him about it, but he really just _can’t_. He thinks it’s because talking about it means that he’s admitting certain things… things he’s not ready or willing to admit to himself or to other people just yet.

(“I don’t think I can be in love with you,” Zayn says mostly to himself. He practices it in front of a mirror, ready to spring it out for a conversation he knows he will never, ever willingly have.)

Zayn feels a little sad, but he knows it’s for the best. He goes through a one-sided break-up, an escape from a relationship that didn’t even get to bloom. He does it so that he can survive the rest of the time they still have together. He can foresee a long future with Liam, but only if he keeps his mouth shut. If neither of them says anything about love, they’ll be fine. He can’t bow out of the group now; they’re family. Zayn figures that his time with the boys has an expiration date. One day, all of this will be gone and though he loves the idea of ending every day with Liam—of curling against each other under the covers, of quiet fishing holidays, of long drives to somewhere else, of living somewhere quiet with dogs or something—he doesn’t think it’s worth risking everything he has now. Not if it’s not a sure thing.

Zayn sighs. He’s had this conversation, this back-and-forth with himself way too many times, and it just feels like a futile exercise. The thing is, he can’t have the actual conversation with the person unknowingly involved.

He needs to keep having it, though, because he needs to remember.

 

•

 

“You think we’ll ever kiss for real?”

They were lying down on Liam’s bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, limbs spread out like starfish, hands nearly but not quite touching. They had been drinking, the other boys shuffling out to Niall and Harry’s room, where there was room for all three of them to sleep, sprawled about and rumpled.

(He knows he’s resolved to stop getting into this shit with Liam, but he’s blaming it on the alcohol.)

Liam barked out a laugh. “Isn’t this real enough for you, babe?” Liam shifts over so he lies down on his side, eyes crinkled up, so he’s facing Zayn. Zayn looks over and mirrors Liam’s position.

“You know what I mean,” Zayn says, the buzz of alcohol sloshing into his words. He talks a bit louder than he wanted, but he’s not quite himself right now, so it’s fine. It’s _fine_. “Like, proper like.”

Liam’s expression sobers into something that looks like tenderness, and also something that looks like it has something to prove. This kicks up a smirk on Zayn’s face, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him.

Before Zayn realizes what’s happening, Liam takes Zayn’s face in his hands—big and strong with thick fingers, quite different from his own—and he brushes a thumb over Zayn’s left cheek as he exhales slowly and meaningfully, as though bracing himself for the most important thing he ever has to do in his life. Zayn swallows, thickly, in the anticipation of it, and just when he thinks he can’t quite wait for it anymore, Liam leans in and kisses Zayn softly, as if he’s afraid he might break him.

Zayn’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes brushing Liam’s flushed cheeks as he suckles a little on Zayn’s bottom lip. Zayn’s hand snakes between Liam’s waist and the covers, and he threads his other hand through Liam’s hair before gently scraping at his neck with his fingers. Liam growls low and quiet, and Zayn opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Liam flicks a tongue inside, tasting the hollow of Zayn’s cheek. With his hand still on the back of Liam’s neck, Zayn brings him just a little bit closer as Liam hooks a leg over Zayn’s hip. Liam angles his hips so that his semi lightly pushes against Zayn’s thigh. Zayn inhales sharply and he thinks about how his jeans and Liam’s joggers are the only things separating Liam’s cock from his skin. He tugs Zayn’s hair a little, a quick dull pain shoots through Zayn’s scalp. It doesn’t hurt, really, but the thought of Liam figuring out something specific that sets Zayn off makes him inhale sharply in surprise and pleasure.

“Real enough for you?” Liam whispers out, low and dangerous, a question that challenges Zayn to say _no._ But he can’t.

“Y-yeah.” 

“Good.” Liam closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss first on Zayn’s forehead, then on the tip of his nose, then on his lips. He opens his eyes and gives Zayn a big, lazy smile. “We’re always real, Zayn. Don’t ever, ever forget that. This is what’s real.” He brings a hand to his chest, and then presses it against Zayn’s, heavy hand over his heart.

Zayn nods, and he closes his eyes. He decides that he quite likes drunk Liam.

 

•

 

“We can’t do this, Zaynie,” Liam says softly. “Not the way we want to.”

Zayn wants to reply sharply, with a cutting remark that he’s sure to slice Liam in two, but he stills his tongue and pauses to think. He knows Liam’s right, so he says so. “I know,” he agrees. “But fuck, babe.”

“I know.”

They’re visiting Zayn’s family in Bradford, and there’s a swing set two minutes away from his house that Zayn used to always go to when he was upset as a kid and needed somewhere quiet to be left alone. They didn’t mean to talk about _this_ , not here or right now, or ever, really. It was just an unspoken thing, an understanding. A part of Zayn hates Liam for even bringing it up, but a bigger part of him knows that they were going to have this conversation eventually. One way or another. He just wanted it to have turned out a bit differently, he thinks.

“You know I love you, right?” Liam asks wearily. “So much. It’s just—”

“Yeah,” Zayn stops Liam before he says too much. “Same.” He can’t say the words—the right ones—because he knows that if he says them, he will unspool in front of Liam. He will completely unravel and fall apart, and even though Liam’s bigger than he probably will ever be, Zayn knows that this is his turn to be strong for Liam.

If Liam’s disappointed at Zayn’s noncommittal response, he doesn’t show it. Or, it might’ve been too dark for Zayn to see anyway. His pinky finds Zayn’s and hooks onto it. Zayn can’t help but smile at the ridiculous gesture, albeit sadly. But he knows he can’t cry, so he keeps quiet instead, chokes back the sobs that gathered in the base of his throat.

“One day we’ll be on time,” Zayn says, more to himself, in a voice that he wishes was a bit stronger. A bit firmer. Just a bit more convincing. He doesn’t think he can handle this anymore. He stands up and walks towards a nearby bench. He sits and Liam doesn’t miss a beat and sits next to him, painfully close yet not close enough.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out. “God, Liam. I’d wait forever.”

“Don’t want you to, though,” Liam says, wrapping his arm around Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn leans into it, buries himself in the crook of Liam’s neck and lets out a shuddering breath. “Want you to be happy, always.”

“But I’m happy with you,” Zayn says petulantly. Liam laughs a sad, watery laugh.

“‘M glad, then,” he says, holding Zayn closer to him. “That’s all I want.”

The night was quiet, as it’s wont to be in Zayn’s neighborhood at this time. He thinks about how much he misses this quiet, which then makes him think of how much he’ll miss this. He knows it’s not the _end_ , but it still feels like an ominous warning, that things are going to be changing… that this is the way his pitiful story with Liam will end. It doesn’t seem fair, all of a sudden. They weren’t even given a proper chance. His shoulders sag under an invisible weight and he thinks that all he wants to do right now is cry it out.

“What now?" 

“Now,” Liam exhales. “I don’t know. We pine for each other, then we get sick of it, drop everything and leave. Ride out into the sunset and everything.”

“How picturesque.”

“Yeah, like a dream.”

“Definitely like a dream.”

“I hope we don’t wake up from it.”

“I hope we don’t either.”

“Where would we go?” Zayn indulges Liam. Liam doesn’t make space for dreaming sometimes, so Zayn likes it when he gets into these moods. God. Zayn’s going to miss all of this so much.

“Somewhere.”

Everything is quiet and still; the biggest moment of Zayn’s life—because that’s what this is—set to the sound of crickets and the weight of an unknowable future he’s not sure he wants anymore.

“Love you,” Zayn says finally, words mouthed against Liam’s bare skin.

“Love you.”

“I guess we should head back.”

“I guess so.”

They walk back to Zayn’s house in silence. The leaves are turning colors, but it’s not quite the crisp autumn weather that Zayn likes the most. Not yet. Before they enter the house, Liam faces Zayn, both hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eyes, sad but soft. “Remember, babe. You and me—that’s what’s real.”

“The realest,” Zayn exhales. He smiles a little. “Also, it’s you and I.”

“Sod off,” Liam laughs, straight from his belly, and turns to enter the house, leading a laughing Zayn into his own house by the waist.

 

•

 

He fucks people; hard not to when you’re in the world’s biggest boy band, but it’s mostly because he’s too tired to give a fuck anymore. It’s a blur of sweaty, sticky bodies, and sloppy kisses. Of faces he doesn’t remember and won’t ever see again. He drowns in noise and smoke and ink, free falling into a mess he’s not sure he wants to climb out off. He catches Liam looking at him, full of worry, sometimes. If he can be bothered, he’ll give Liam a put on smile, the realest he can muster, just so he can wipe away that worried look off his face. Most of the time, he just pretends to not see him.

He doesn’t get much attention, other than for his high notes, his cheekbones and eyelashes, and the garbage news that somehow manages to circulate around the tabloids. And he guesses, because of Perrie.

So, somewhere in all of this, Zayn gets a girlfriend. Kind of. He didn’t mean for it to happen, really, but Perrie’s nice enough. It’s just that Zayn’s the kind of person who _will_ follow through with heavy suggestions. Everyone kept saying that they looked really good together, kept asking him about Little Mix, kept trying to say that she would be good for him, for his image, for the band’s image. (Whatever _that_ means.)

So he asks her out, and she says yes, and to be honest, he’s not really very good at this sort of thing, so he’s a little flustered that it all works out.

Anyway, Zayn thinks she’s gorgeous, if a little loud sometimes. She wants to talk about everything, and despite himself, he answers. Very measured at first, but the thing is, she figures out how to make him laugh. It started with some joke about bananas, then it was an offhand comment about a soccer game, and eventually, Perrie figures out Zayn’s secret language, and eventually, going over to see her doesn’t feel so dreadful.

(Making Zayn laugh isn’t something a lot of people can do, so he’s startled, but she just looks like she’s always known how to break through his walls. At least, for this one part. He’s not quite sure he’s ready to let other people all the way in. Not anymore.)

He tries to understand her, too, and obviously, they mess around. Kisses at first, then something else. He tries her on, and so does she, and in many ways they fit well. Almost as good as Danielle looks with Liam, but he tries not to think about that, the same way he knows that Liam’s carefully never asking him questions about Perrie. Which is fine. He doesn’t have to, doesn’t really want to talk about her, anyway.

When he kisses her cunt and licks her open, he sees her nipples pert, turned up to the sky as she arches her back and bucks against the face buried between her thighs, and it actually feels okay. Good, even. Like he could live and be okay with this. With softness, instead of hard angles. With Perrie instead of, well. Someone else.

 

•

 

Just as Zayn is easing into his relationship with Perrie, Danielle and Liam break up. If that isn’t an unfortunate twist of events, Zayn doesn’t know what is. He’s not going to do anything drastic, though, he’s _not_.

He knows what’s at stake, and he knows that this wasn’t the only thing that had been keeping them apart, anyway. No one wants a boy band with four of the boys into _each other_. The world just isn’t ready for it. He knows this because that memo all those weeks ago—the one that kindly asked Louis and Harry to quit being so sweet to each other—expressed that much. So, Zayn doesn’t try anything. He doesn’t think he can afford to.

At the news of the breakup, Niall proposed a drinking night in Liam’s room. More to be around each other than to cheer Liam up, an excuse to get sloshed together again.

They put on a DVD, staring blankly at the screens, and drinking rum and brandy, like proper _dads_. Louis throws popcorn at the T.V. Harry and Niall jeer when the jerk gets the girl. At some point, they all pass out in a heap, snoring softly as the credits roll up into goodness knows where.

When Zayn turns off the T.V. and picks up a little after them,Harry wakes up and shepherds the Niall and Louis out of the room, winking conspiratorially, all obvious and exaggerated at Zayn, and he can’t help but chuckle. There’s a twinge in Zayn’s heart when he thinks about how far they’ve gone and how much they’ve done in their lives, because he also thinks about how much they’ve grown, both as themselves, and away from each other.

He settles on the bed and curls up near Liam, following the curves of his body, but not quite letting their bodies touch.

They napped off the light buzz of the alcohol, and now that the hazy edge has tapered off, they’re more awake, but also quite wired. Zayn wakes up to the cool blue glow of the T.V. bouncing off of Liam’s (gorgeous) face, and he smiles at him when he sees that Zayn’s woken up, too. Zayn reckons that tequila makes him sleepy, but rum and brandy make him bold. He knows that there’s a small part of him that will regret whatever he’s about to do, but he can’t bring himself to give a fuck right now.

Zayn lowers himself down on Liam, mirroring their position from when they first kissed. “Hi,” he says, quietly.

“Hi,” Liam says, a little higher than usual, betraying his own nervousness. Zayn’s not sure why they’re both so nervous. They’ve fooled around more times than what would probably be considered healthy, and yet. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the whole bloody elephant in the room. They did shit when Liam had a girlfriend, and it was fine because it meant absolutely nothing, just stress and exhaustion and _release_. Sure, they’ve said the word _love_ a few times but not when they’re making out or—

But now, Liam’s free—Zayn winces at his word choice—and he supposes that he’s scared, both that it would mean something and that it might not. He tries not to think of his own girlfriend, his drunken haze just presentenough for him to forget about her for a while.

Liam clears his throat, voice heavy and thick with something like desire. “What?”

Zayn shakes his head and lowers it down to sneak a kiss. His head is buzzing. He didn’t think this through, but it’s too late because he’s already straddling Liam fucking Payne. So he moves one hand through Liam’s hair and he relishes at the short-softness of it. His eyes move around Liam’s face, searching it for something he forgets about as soon as his gaze reaches Liam’s eyes and he just absolutely fucking drowns in them.

“Is—is this okay?” Zayn knows he means the straddling part, but he’s not sure if he’s made himself clear, or—

“Y-yes,” Liam manages, and then, “please.”

Zayn grins, despite himself, and well, now they’re kissing.

“S’hot,” Liam says, panting each breath out heavily. They hadn’t done this in months, and inside, he feels like a wire that’s about to snap. Zayn rucks up his shirt and Liam lifts his back so Zayn can pull it off him. He throws it across the room, and Liam looks up at him. “Hey,” he says, in a voice filled with pretend hurt.

Zayn grins, and steadily says, “It was in the way.”

He kisses a trail along Liam’s jaw—scratchy and perfect—and all over his face, memorizing every plane, every rise and dip of it. He missed this so much. Zayn’s chest tightens, like kissing Liam’s face, taking in every inch of him, is both too much but can never be enough. Liam is all restless hands, across Zayn’s back, in his hair, tugging and pulling, a laugh escaping from his throat.

“Your fucking perfect, babe,” Zayn says against his skin. “Look at you.”

“I love you,” Zayn thinks he hears Liam stutter out, but he doesn’t stay on it. He knows this already, and he didn’t even need to hear it. He just kisses a trail of kisses down Liam’s bare chest, licks along the line of dark, coarse that leads down the waist band of his joggers, which Liam’s cock is tenting. He kisses the head a little, over the fabric, a tentative question that Liam answers with a low whine.

“Li,” Zayn says, dragging the vowel out like a question. “This okay?”

Liam just fucking lets him and that’s enough permission for Zayn.

He pulls his waistband down and Liam’s half-hard cock greets him. Zayn pulls off Liam’s pants completely and his mouth waters at the sight of Liam. Liam, who is uncharacteristically quiet throughout all of this. “Okay, babe?”

Liam breathes out, “Better than.”

“Okay.”

Zayn settles somewhere between Liam’s legs, his cock so close to Zayn’s face. He presses his cheek into Liam’s inner thigh and grins at his sharp intake of breath, knowing that his stubble is leaving a dull burn on Liam’s skin. For a little while, he’s marked as Zayn’s and his own cock twitches a little at the thought of this. That Liam, for now, is his. _Possessive fuck_ , he thinks. _Liam smells so different from—_ he buries the thought deep in his brain and runs a tongue along the underside of Liam’s shaft. Liam shudders and puts an arm over his face, because he can’t take this. If he looks at Zayn taking his cock in his mouth, he knows he will fall apart, completely. 

Liam shakes a little more as Zayn wraps his mouth around the tip of his dick. He tries to be as quiet as he possibly can, tries to not make a sound, muffling his own mouth with his arm as Zayn sucks his cock, cheek beautifully hollowed, making deliberate, obscene sounds with his wet mouth. His hands grip Liam’s thighs, anchoring himself to the world, because this is fucking magic, Zayn thinks. Liam peeks every few seconds before throwing his head back in pleasure, covering his face with his free hand, snaking the other in Zayn’s hair. He gives it a tug before gently pushing Zayn’s head more towards his cock.

“Fucking gorgeous, aren’t you?” he breathes out, trying not to fuck into Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn makes sure Liam’s eyes are on his, as he cocks an eyebrow to say _yes_ , after which he takes Liam’s whole length into his mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of his throat as he deep throats him.

“Fuck, Zayn!” Liam shouts in surprise, and he’s gone.

“That’s right, babe,” Zayn pulls off to say, voice hoarse and steady. “Say my name. Don’t look away.” _I want you to know who’s doing this to you_ , Zayn thinks. His mouth is on Liam’s cock again and this time, he can’t help but fuck into it, letting out a string of _fuckfuckfuck_ ’s and _your beautiful mouth_ and _I love you so much_ and _Zaynzaynzayn_ until he completely falls apart and comes into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn swallows everything, and Liam thinks he just might get hard again at the sight of it. 

“Fuck, Zayn,” Liam breathes out, syllables falling out of his mouth erratically.

Zayn grins, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “You said that already.”

“S’always you.”

“I know, babe.”

Zayn crawls up beside Liam, pulling the covers over the both of them, settling into the space beside Liam that he’s long marked as his.

 

•

 

Somehow, before long, Danielle gets switched up with a _Sophia_ , and Zayn’s confused but he stills his tongue. No one talks about anyone’s personal business anymore. It doesn’t seem worth it to get into it. Zayn’s just glad that he doesn’t have to ever see Sophia unless he absolutely has to, and that he doesn’t ever have to talk to her or bring her up.

Liam doesn’t say a thing about it and Zayn knows well enough to know not to ask. He doesn’t go into Liam’s room now anymore, either. It just doesn’t seem fair. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANYWAY, SORRY. I KNOW, THIS IS AWFUL. I just needed to write out some stuff from my headcanon. It'll, um, sort itself out in the next (and hopefully final) chapter. 
> 
> Concrit & reviews & kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for reading! x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I haven't done a multi-chapter fic in years, but let's all hope this ends well.
> 
> Again, this isn't real and isn't meant to be taken as real. Again, obviously.


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